The Rebirth of Yesterday
by The Phantom Fox
Summary: Over a century has passed since Winter's beginning. With the race of Men now demolished, the fabled "Others" have risen up to take their place. Bran Stark, the last remaining greenseer, must travel through time to change the tide of fate and end this trivial "game of thrones". The one true enemy is not each other, but Winter, and its mortal servants the Others. Post ADWD.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or any characters/places/terms from it.

AN: After reading about the Bran time traveler theory for TWOW and ADOS, thought it would be a cool idea to write a fanfiction about it! Also requested by one of my friends. Takes place post ADWD and maybe even ADOS. Also, if you're a fan of The Walking Dead please check out my other fanfiction No Longer A Legend. But, for now, please enjoy.

The cold winds whistled through the crow's cavern, meeting with the harsh sounds of _Skroth_. The man sat on the weirwood throne; his feeble legs wrapped in dead roots. They pierced his shins, grasped his knees and made his feet immobile. It made no difference… his legs were always useless. After so many years, he still remembered the shock of losing mobility and freedom. _You'll be a knight, or one of Robb's banner men_, father had said. But that was years ago, everyone Bran knew was dead. It was the year 299 when father died, the beginning of winter. It was year 402 now, and winter was far from gone.

The yells grew louder, and deafening crash rattled the cavern walls. Hodor's frosty skull shifted in place and the crows squawked endlessly. _Cold_, _Cold_, one screeched. _Trees don't feel the cold_, Bran thought as he peered at his mostly wooden arms.

The crow grew quiet as Bran became one with the avian. He flew through the weirwood tunnels to find Leaf cross-legged and muttering chants near the cavern entrance. Her once bronze skin had faded to a pale white and the green foliage of her cloak shifted to the deathly colours of autumn. Although bony, her eyes were still two glass balls.

She recognized his presence. 'Lord Brandon… the ward-.'

Bran squawked and perched on a root. She was right. The Others had broken through the only magical barrier they had. Only barriers of stone were left, and the White Walkers' rams would turn them into dust.

_There isn't much time left_, Bran thought, _now… I have to do it now. _The warg squawked again, and Leaf's eyes widened.

'It's too dangerous,' Leaf insisted. 'Meddling with time… it is a costly thing.'

Bran agreed, but it had to be done. In truth, he should have gone long ago, back when the world still had a shred of summer left. _Summer_.

'Leaf, you must stay here and report any changes… by heart tree.'

'Lord Stark-.'

'I'll be in Winterfell. Use the Winterfell weirwood.'

Leaf stood up and nodded. Another crashsounded.

_I'll be able to see Father, Mother, Robb, Sansa, Arya_… _Rickon_ Bran thought. Brandon Stark shifted his gaze into his own eyes and called to his direwolf. Leaf ran into the room, wet with tears, clutching a white stick.

'Take it,' she said. 'If anything goes wrong.'

He nodded and took the stick. The now grey-furred Summer jumped onto his lap and Bran closed his eyes. The weirwood roots tightened around his body and the white energy of time consumed them whole.


	2. Chapter 2

The last swirls of time's pale essence left Bran's vision, and he was home. Winterfell. The smell of mud and horse manure was empowering, and the sounds of daily tasks shattered Bran's ears. Being one hundred years younger not only shortened him by nearly three feet, it also sharpened his sensed to a knifepoint.

Bran ran a hand through his thick brown locks, no longer a tangled matte of gray. Next he twitched his toes… _twitched. _And it was extraordinary. His feet wiggled, and knees bent. Every muscle in his legs was working in harmony, he took step, and then another. Soon he was at a jog, and with Summer at his heels, he vaulted over a fence and headed towards the godswood. It wasn't like riding a horse; it felt much more natural. _Was it to the west? _Bran thought, _or to the right on this corner? _He would figure it out.

Brigades of crimson-gold and Stark grey passed Bran by, clinking like kitchens. Soon enough, the boy spied the red foliage of the weirwood. He fingered Leaf's gift and started to the tree.

Luckily, the godswood was empty. Bran had rarely entered the forest during his youth, and he was sure that if his parents or siblings saw him talking to a tree he would be questioned to oblivion.

He dipped the stick into the pool and the foot of the weirwood, changing its paleness into a vibrant orange. _Good_, he thought _winter will not arrive for another year at least_. He put it back into his pocket and went to contact Leaf.

Bran squatted in front of the tree's face. It was old and sad, with red stains seeping from its eyes. Bran bit the ball his thumb and smeared his blood over the tree's lips. It all felt like some covert mission. _Would I have done this a hundred years ago? _No, he'd probably be climbing right now.

The tree's melancholy features morphed into Leaf. Its eyes blinked and its lips twitched.

'Was the journey a success? Any problems?'

'No,' Bran replied. 'Haven't seen anyone I know, though.'

'I suppose that's a good thing,' said Leaf. 'Anyway, the conditions here are still the same… the White Walkers haven't broken through. But there's not much time… Lord Brandon, hurry and do what you must.'

He nodded. 'The man who pushed me from the tower.'

The tree's lips froze and shifted back to their original shape. Wide eyes turned squinted, and a fresh stream of sap flowed down its cheeks. The tower was waiting.

Foothold by foothold Bran climbed the tower. The direwolf was whining below him, ears bent back in worry. Summer knew, Summer remembered. Old bricks shuffled in their place, making Bran feel nervous. He paused at a sturdy one and shook out his arms when they began to lock up. Then he heard the moans and grunts.

Bran swallowed. He ran peeked his head over the top of the tower and saw the two Lannister siblings wrestling. He pulled himself up, the fake look of shock on his face.

They didn't notice him at first; they were too focused on their brawl. But soon enough the woman opened her eyes and gasped.

'Jaime…stop…_Stop!_'

The man froze and looked at the boy. As he laced up his breeches he whispered something into his partner's ear.

He then glanced at Bran. 'What's a boy like you doing up here?' He headed walked to Stark and shook his head. 'You climb up here all by yourself?'

Bran pushed the Lannister away. The man grabbed for Bran's collar, but the boy was too quick. Stark leaned up against one of the broken walls and instantaneously, the world when dark.

Seconds later, he was in the mind of the Lannister. He could see himself slumped up against the wall, eyes white. The woman…_ Cersei_… was shocked.

'Jaime – what did you do? Did you hit him? He saw us!'

Bran blinked. 'Goodbye…' he said. He controlled the man to the ledge. And without a second thought, he jumped.

Bran wouldn't dare experience the sickening crunch and dull pain again. By the time Jaime hit the ground, the boy had already warged back into his child self. Bran never wanted revenge, but if it was going to save his father, he vow revenge a thousand times over.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Well, I'm back after a really long hiatus. This ones going to be short while I get back into the groove of writing this story. Enjoy!

The streets wept Lannister red and Baratheon gold weeks after Jaime Lannister's fall. Long gone was the city's politically friendly demeanor. Both Stark and Lannister soldiers alike stood quiet, sharing steely, venomous glances at one another. It was a strange sight after such chummy banter and conversation. Even worst were the people. Citizens from wet nurses to stable boys engaged in brutal arguments over the Stark boy, Lady Cersei, her crippled twin brother, and the strange event that banded them together. Street fights grew more and more violent, and the guards tasked to stop them argued amongst themselves time and time again over just what had happened.

Winterfell was steadily falling apart under the weight of Bran's actions. And at the center of it all was his father. Lord Eddard Stark endured many a sleepless night over the squabbles between Lannister and Stark, attempting to smooth relations between the two houses. Rumors of betrayal and deceit flowed through the northern capital like a raging torrent, made worst by King Robert's drunken and frustrated attitude towards the matter.

Bran however felt a sense of relief after Lanniser's fall; like the squashing of a bug that has been biting for too long. This bug, however, was only a shell of its former self. Jaime was left both unable to move, and unable to think. He lay in his bed like a sack of potatoes, moaning gutturally every hour for something to eat, or for someone to relieve him. Maester Luwin referred to him as a "vegetable", a name that Cersei Lannister wanted no part of. It was all like some sick déjà vu, except this time, the Lannisters were the ones who felt the sense of loss.

Bran sat on his bed, swinging his legs, and relishing in their smooth movement. He brought them up before swinging them down again, testing them like some sacred yet powerful tool.

'It was _the boy_!" Bran heard the voice yell. "By the gods it was _the boy_… _THE BOY _did something to Jaime!" The voice boomed again. Both a sense of loss and anger resounded into the voice; the womanly tone meant it was none other than Cersei Lannister.

'Seven hells, woman; Ned's son couldn't have thrown Jaime off the bloody tower." Another voice roared. "If I prick my finger, does the thing fall off in response?" The voice asked, drowned in liquor.

"Did you ask _the boy_? Did you question _the boy _that ruined Jaime?" Cersei screamed.

There was a deadly silence interrupted only by the Cersei's sickening sobs, and the loud booming of footsteps that came closer and closer to Bran's chamber.


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Happy new year everyone! Including new readers and those fifty something of you who continued to follow and of course, the reviewers. All of you who continue to read this story long after it was last updated. So, it is a new year, new season, new chapter. Season 6 has given me plenty of inspiration to keep writing, so I hope you'll continue to enjoy!

She was a tangled mess of gold, red, and white. Slouched pathetically in her chair, her cheeks beet red and swollen from endless tears. Her matte of hair covered her face like some lustrous bandana. The woman's dress was ripped and frayed in multiple places, the handiwork of the little stubs that were her fingernails. Cersei Lannister had experienced what loss truly was. No, not when your serving girl accidentally drops your chamberpot, but when the most important person in your life has left you.

"That fucking _boy _did it," Cersei sobbed, "he crippled Jaime!" Her voice leaked through the castle walls like a miasma.

Bran entered, following closely behind his father. Cersei glanced at the boy with a venomous glance before hiding her red face in her knees again. She had moved her chair far away from the massive table that dominated the room.

Robert sat belly bulbous, elbows resting against the wooden table, and fingers rubbing away a nasty headache. 'The boy's here, Cersei,' he said in a whisper, 'let's here what he has to say.' He lacked his jolly lisp. There was reward in the struggles of men, he knew. Who doesn't love gossip, no matter how petty? There was nothing of the sort in the crimes of a child.

Eddard led his son to the seat straight across from Cersei. _To prove his innocence, a man must speak slowly, speak clearly, and speak directly to the man or woman who accuses him_, Ned had said to Bran. Bran agreed; but as of right now, Cersei Lannister was no woman. She was a vicious fury of emotions - completely immune to any form of reason. A raging flame that only grew bigger with the presence of the Stark boy.

Ned took his seat next to Bran. "Go ahead and say what you think happened, Bran.'

It was worse than any story Old Nan had told him, or Robb had teased him with. Forget the Others, the White Walkers. When Bran likened the Queen of Lannister to a flame, he meant it. Bran shivered, but he sat in his dinner chair as still as ice. The look on her face made him want to tear up. It was ferocious, it was _human_. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before in a another person, much less the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

Bran opened his mouth to speak, but came out with a mere whimper. Call it the audible gathering of thoughts. Perhaps even the faint whisper of boys' lungs desperate for breath. No one would buy it, not even his understanding father. It did not take the Lord of Winterfell to know that the boy was petrified.

Robert looked at him glazed as a rotten lemon cake. His eyes were lidded, half mast. Yet they demanded answers all the same. And if there was one thing Bran learned in his time before the King's arrival, it was that you never ignore the beckon of a Lord's call. Even if they weren't so vocal in their approach.

Bran opened with a rather sullen, "_I didn't do it."_

Robert's eyes seemed to have shut their own coffin. He continued to rub his temples. Bran sensed his father shuffle in his seat. For all the subtle actions in the room, it remained silent.

"I don't know how he fell off the tower," Bran continued.

Cersei withdrew from the safety of her kneecaps. Her cheeks were Lannister red. She was prepared to live up to her family's words. No lion is too proud to strike the pups.

"It's all rather easy, isn't it?" Cersei snapped. "It's all rather easy to sit there, in your high chair, in your own hall, sucking the teats of your own father, just so that you may find your footing in too hot of water."

A pause. A moment of silence. Bran took it, he cherished it. The boy needed every second he could take in order to comprehend all that the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms had to say.

"It's all rather easy, isn't it?" she repeated. She looked ready to rise and pounce. To take the kill, and turn the lion of Lannister all the more red.

"For fucks sake, Cersei," Robert said, banging his fist against the table. "If you're going to threaten the boy, you've got to make sure he understands the damn thing first."

Bran looked to his father. Lord Eddard Stark looked forward, watching every aspect of the King and Queen. Bran mimicked him, stoney face and all.

But Eddard would talk. "We can't bring Jaime back," he said. "We can't unbreak him. His mind, nor his bones. No amount of milk of the poppy will ease his pain. But you must remember, my Queen, that -"

Cersei snorted. Her fingers gripped the rests of the chair. "The honest Eddard Stark never saw his son's actions as they happened," she said. "It is hard to be credible, when you believe the words of a child over the facts of the Queen of the-"

"He never said he believed the poor boy," Robert groaned.

"I demand an honest trial for my son," Eddard said firmly. "A woman's hysteria is often prone to fabrication."

"You can say the same of a child, Stark!" Cersei cried. "What say you to the victim? To the man pissing away your Maester's storeroom? What would Jaime say, if only he could speak?"

Eddard looked to his son. Bran's heart raced. Not even the calm exterior of his father could calm him. Eddard Stark fought the boy's battles in every manner possible, even today, in this cold stone hall. Robert, the wedge between them all, his words. _He never said he believed the poor boy_. Those words were what scared Bran the most. The thought that his father would stop and support the Lannisters. But he would never support the words of a Lion, especially if they were lies. Would he?

"This argument is as stagnant as an old whore's cunt," Robert said finally. "The boy threw him off the tower, the boy didn't. You can't execute a child, Cersei, and curing your brother of his ailments is no easier. The damn things are set in stone. I'd best not let you two rip the realm into pieces over your squabble." He reached for his wine glass. Was it empty? Or was it full of wine clearer than water? Bran did not know, but the man reached all the same, and drank deeply as soon as the glass touched his lips.

"I'd like to know what business the Queen and her brother had in a broken tower," Eddard said.

"There's an idea," Robert said, past through deep drags of what Bran could only assume was wine.

Cersei snorted.

Bran wasn't sure he wanted to know. But he did. The Lannister twins were

_(fucking)_

wrestling. That was that. Like King Robert said, these things were set in stone.

"You have an answer for us, Cersei?" Robert asked.

She looked at them all venomously. Her tears had dried, but that had not given her any respite. Eddard stared. Bran mimicked him all the same, even though deep in his head, he knew. Knew that-

"Lord Eddard, it's Arya."

Maester Luwin took the door at full force and stumbled into the hall. His patchy hair was slick with what looked like either sweat or rain.

"Arya, my lord," he gulped.

"What is it?" Eddard said suddenly.

"She's been injured," Luwin said. His hands were red and shaking. The cream robes Bran knew had been stained a deep crimson colour.

Eddard jumped from his seat and grabbed for Bran. "Forgive me, Robert," he breathed. And without another glance at the table, he took off with Maester Luwin, Bran in tow like some fleshy doll.

"Is that it, then?" Cersei cried. "You'll drop the matter? For a maester's call?"

Eddard ignored her. The door from which Luwin came was drawing close. Bran stumbled with his footing as he struggled to keep pace with his father. Lannister red dissapeared, but a new tone had taken its place. Bran thought of Arya. It seemed only yesterday had he last seen her. Perhaps he had. If so, then why was she so distant? Like a stranger you only see in your dreams. A face so familiar, marred by the smudge of time. As they trudged through the grey walls of Winterfell, he thought of Arya, her memory, and of course, her blood. Bran hated the idea, but he had to agree: He'd rather Stark red than Lannister red.


End file.
